"And pray what makes you think that?"
"For many reasons. One because you don't saw wood like most men I have seen. You go right through till the cut is even and the end drops off of its own weight. Most men saw it three parts through, then drive in a wedge, and break off the rest. It saves time, but it means laziness. I think I like your way best."
"It is very kind of you to say so."
"Oh, not at all. I thought as I've scolded you so often I ought to tell you of something I approve, that's all."
Decidedly he was a handsome man. She liked his colour, she liked his glow of health and strength, and she was not quite certain that she did not like his eyes; but she wasn't going to let him think she had the very smallest grain of admiration for him. He wondered what was coming next.
"All the same, you're not a very quick worker. I don't know that it's quite a profitable occupation for you. One of the boys would have done twice as much in half the time—not so neatly perhaps, but it would have burned just as well."
That was the way with her. He never made any advance but she drove him back further than he was originally. She saw how her last remark was affecting him, and a smile flickered over her face that was not altogether one of discouragement. He looked up just in time to catch it. The result was disastrous. He missed his thrust—the saw slipped and cut his hand. It was not a deep wound, but it bled profusely—into the white slit of wood, and, drop by drop, down upon the little heap of saw-dust at his feet. She saw it as soon as he did, and gave a little cry of alarm.
"Oh, you have cut yourself, and all through my stupidity! Quick, give me your handkerchief and let me tie it up."
Before he had properly realised what had happened, she had drawn her own handkerchief from her pocket, taken his hand, and was binding it up.
"I'm so very, very sorry. It was all my fault. I should not have stayed here worrying you with my silly talk. Can you forgive me?"